


Kneel Before you Bloodstained Savior

by LoveThyFrenemies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Assassin Harry Potter, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 13:39:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11487513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveThyFrenemies/pseuds/LoveThyFrenemies
Summary: In the world of delicious shades of grey, there is no absolute good savior.  Harry Potter, once weak little boy on verge of exploding, walks a path of destryoing the societies he lives in with a dangerous syndicate of wizards and muggles.  The worlds will collide, and new order will be established.





	1. Worm

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This fanfic WILL contain Dumbledore(not ve bashing, significant amount of gores and disturbing scenes. Please press the backspace and save yourself time if this is not your taste. It will NOT contain a pairing, but may change in future.
> 
> Warning 2: Minor gore in this chapter.

6PM. Privet Drive no.4 1987

"I'm hungry mommy!" A fat, chubby seven years old shouted.

"Oh, our Dudders is hungry? Don't worry. Boy!" A horse-like woman affectionately pinched whale of her son, then suddenly shouted, "are you still not done with the backyard work?! Dudders is hungry!"

"I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia," a week, tired voice was heard from the patio. "There were some worms in the flower pots. It took-"

"Stop making excuses!" Petunia snapped. "You stay under my roof, you better earn your living! Finish the yard work in five minutes, or you won't get any dinner!" The woman was seething like an enraged bull, and hatefully glared her nephew who let his head hung in dejection. As Petunia slammed the backyard slide door shut, he left to kill the remaining worms in pots.

Harry Potter never understood why his relatives hated him so much. Both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia always found faults in whatever Harry did, and called him a worthless child. The words 'happiness', 'joy', and 'love' were nonexistent in his barren life. His oh-so-lovely relatives delighted in taking anything nice from Harry, and giving them away to their precious son, Dudley. Then, they burdened him with more than ten hours of chores, and taught him that everyone should earn their living.

He remembered asking them once why Dudley didn't have to earn his living, and learned a lesson in a very hard way. He ended up being slapped in face so hard that he was knocked down. Vernon was just angrier at that time, but Petunia was screaming out of her lung, telling Harry that their precious Dudders was their son, and he was just a unloveable burden left on their , and he also wasn't given food for three days. Harry would have told them that he didn't choose to be left here, but knowing it would earn him another blow, he just begged for forgiveness.

Pushing away an unpleasant thought, Harry wiped out his sweat off his forehead. He stretched his arms, satisfied that all the worms were taken care off. He then patted dust from his dirty pants, and-

Clink

Harry's glasses fell off, and landed on the last pot he had worked on. He then spotted another worm popping out of the soil, and slither over the glasses. It left a disgusting, sticky path over the glass frames as it crawled. It was crawling so slowly that it looked as if trying to mock Harry's efforts to clean the pots.

He just stared at the worm. And blinked. He couldn't comprehend why there were more worms even though he had spent an hour and half to perfectly clean the flower pots. Didn't he do work hard already? He had to skip his lunch and water break. Why did this worm have to make him work even more?

Why did this barely sentient worm have to make his life even harder?

He could feel frustration building inside him, and change into ugly, hateful anger. No matter what his relatives said to him since he could walk, he just knew that he didn't deserve their spite. He didn't deserve be kicked around in this damned house. He didn't deserve to be lonely and blamed for any mischiefs that Dudley pulled off in his pre-school. He didn't deserve to wear these hands-down clothes that were stained with dirt.

He just wanted to hear one single word of affection.

Harry gripped his hoe harder. He picked up his glasses and wiped the dirty stains with his even dirtier shirts. He aimed the tip of the hoe right at the worm. It was still crawling, oblivious to its fate.

Squash

Harry stroke down the hoe on the worm, impaling it right in the middle. The worm wiggled in silent pain, and pathetically attempted to escape over the pot.

Harry then stroke again.

This time, it hit the middle of half, splattering some of its guts on Harry's hand. He didn't flinch.

Stab, Stab, Stab.

Harry kept stabbing the severed worm again and again, pulverizing it into an unpleasant, gooey paste. Guts and fleshes of worm splatters on his hoe and hand. Although the worm wasn't quite big, the grotesque remains would have made other kids shriek and run to their mom and dad.

Harry, however, had no one to run to.

His anger subsided, but only a little. A deep, simmering resentment and hate was already burning in Harry, and it made his inside clench in unpleasantness.

But there was a satisfaction.

Quickly covering the mess with the pot soil, he stood up and headed to the slide door. Aunt Petunia would sing cacophonously if he was late, and he wanted to avoid such grating noise.

He turned his head to see the worm's grave, and a creepy smile crept to his lips.

7:30pm

Uncle Vernon was complaining in dinner table.

Again.

While Harry was cooking fish and chips on the stove, the three Dursleys were sitting on the dinner table. They devoured the food in a blink and engaged in stupid conversations.

Vernon paraded himself as a hardworking, impeccable man whom Petunia and Dudley were so proud of, but Harry knew that the title ' junior executive' was not that prideful. Harry knew that some kids from his pre-school had jobs that earned much higher salaries and were held in more esteem. He didn't know how much, but he was sure that it was definitely more than a junior executive from drill company.

Then, he would spend his entire dinner time criticizing his co-workers' flaws; two days ago, it had been about his associate, Danny Kane, who had a dirty neck-tie; yesterday, it had been about his receptionist Heather Durant's messy; today, he complained about Mr. Elliot, and claimed that the president was getting senile with his age. As Vernon vehemently put others down, his lovely Petunia and Dudley laugh along, and chime in with their own stories. They occasionally found chances to insult Harry simultaneously.

Today's dinner was not particularly different, but somehow it grated on Harry's nerve even more.

"I want more bacons! Give me!"

"Patience, Dudders. BOY! Where are the bacons!" Vernon bellowed.

"They will be ready in two minutes. The fat isn't rendered yet," Harry nonchalantly replied.

"But I want it now!"

"Oh Dudders, two minute isn't long, is it? It will be ready soon," Petunia tried to appease his son's tantrum.

"I WANT IT NOW!"

"Just shut up Dudley," Harry whispered at the same time Dudley whined, telling himself that no one

could have heard.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY, BOY?!"

Oh Boy, Harry thought. He had hoped that his purple uncle didn't hear him, but clearly it was the opposite.

"Nothing, Uncle Vernon," he turned around from the kitchen and expertly lied through his teeth with innocent eyes. Years of experience with angry Vernon made him seasoned with small lies like this.

He didn't even blink when Vernon glared into his eyes.

"Don't you lie to me, boy!" Vernon yelled persistently, "I saw your mouth moving! Do you think you are fed and clothed to lie to your uncle and aunt?! Now, what did you say about Dudders?"

"I swear, Uncle Vernon. I said nothing. I must have mouthed to count seconds so that I don't burn bacon," Harry replied, still innocently looking into Vernon's eyes

Vernon looked at him suspiciously for a second, then went back to the dinner table.

Harry's eyes drifted to Vernon's overly fat neck. The neck was getting sweaty as Vernon kept eating so vigorously. Harry wondered how someone could be this..gluttonous. The man ate a full English breakfast in the morning, and when he came back, he literally sucked in fish and chips, bacon, bread, ham, and basically anything that he felt like eating. Harry didn't know how much his uncle ate for lunch, but he was sure it was a lot. Then, he would dig in a pint of ice cream, and eat another dessert before going to bed. Exercise was never in his dictionary.

Harry then remembered the worm that he so brutally chopped and pulverized, and glanced down at the kitchen knife. He gripped the knife harder like he had with the hoe, and looked back his uncle's neck.

He imagined the man's fatty, wrinkled neck like a giant section of worm with human skin. Harry had been bruised and punched before, and occasionally cut himself with kitchen knife while cooking. He remembered that a shallow cut was sharply painful, but he never thought of cutting someone else with a knife. And Vernon always treated him like, or maybe, less than a worm.

If he stabbed his uncle's neck now, would he become a worm in Harry's place? Would his fat, ugly, creased neck spill out fleshes like that worm did? Or perhaps the blood will ooze out, then stain his kitchen knife and his hands?

Would he stop yelling at him all the time?

"Hey, freak!" an annoying, whiny voice woke Harry from his pondering, "are bacons ready?"

Harry quickly turned around to see the bacons were so close to burning, and hurriedly took them off the searing hot pans. The bacons ended up being tad bit too crisp for Dudley's taste, but Harry catered them to the table anyway.

"It's too dry!" Dudley whined, "make them again!"

"You already ate all the bacons," Harry replied, repressing a sigh. Did the fatty's hunger ever get sated? "There aren't any left."

"Don't talk back, you uncouth brat!" Petunia snapped, "give your bacons to Dudley."

"Then... what am I going to eat?" Harry paled a bit, dreading to be starved after today's labors.

"You should have cooked the bacons properly, boy. It's your fault," Vernon sneered at Harry's direction, positively beaming at the fact that Harry was going to suffer from hunger again.

Harry didn't say anything in return. His face, completely blank, blinked a few times, and turned around to look at his plate of bacons that he had reserved earlier. The bacons were cold now, but the pan was still searing hot.

"Okay then," Harry sighed, "I will need to reheat the bacons. Hold on, Dudley."

He put the bacons back to the pan, and stirred around so that the strips could pick up heat faster. His fingers absently tapped on the counter, waiting for the meat strips to be warm.

"Stop with that annoying sound, boy," Petunia slammed his fork on the table, clearly irritated by the drumming sound. Harry stopped right away.

He just stared at the bacons, slowly melting its grease on the pan. If he touched the pan right now, he would burn his finger and his skin would swell. That would hurt quite a lot, wouldn't it?

It would hurt even more if your face were on the pan, Harry thought. Then what would happen?

Harry picked up pan, and headed to the table once again to put bacons on Dudley's saw an ugly, mocking expression from his fat cousin's face, but responded with utter silence. Years of Dursley's favoritism for Dudley taught Harry to not raise voice to Dudley, and he wasn't about to do it now.

He really wished to be taken away from here. Anywhere would be better than this pen of two pigs and one lanky horse..

Ding Dong!

"Who in the name of devil is coming to our house at this hour?" Vernon yelled. "Boy, go open the door!"

With a growling stomach, Harry dragged himself to the front door to open the door. He couldn't care less who were the visitors. They were probably some neighbors, Uncle Vernon's coworkers, religious missionaries, or even door-to-door salesmen. Anyone that had nothing to do with Harry. Or his family.

Whoever it is better not annoy uncle or aunt, Harry bitterly thought as he twisted the doorknob, he would take it out on me.

Creak.

When Harry opened the door, there stood three strangers in pitch black suits. They wore black glasses and black fedoras that veiled their features, and were tall enough to almost touch the ceiling with their heads. It was fairly dark outside with late summer night, and it obscured the strangers' features even more. None of them moved an inch but just stood there, outside the door. It reminded Harry of mannequins he saw in mall.

The three imposing figures seemed to look at the much smaller boy. Even though their glasses were too dark to see through, Harry could feel their gazes scanning and examining him. Fear seized Harry, rendering him helplessly watching the 'guests'. Harry wanted to say something, but all he could do was to open and close his mouth like a mindless goldfish. He wanted to run back to kitchen, but his legs felt paralyzed.

Suddenly, a light laughter rang out.

The laughter startled Harry and made him flinch, causing the two guests snicker. Then, the figure on the right walked into the hallway, and lowered its body to see Harry's face. Harry fearfully stepped back, but his back touched the wall. Too afraid to move again, he merely stared at the person approaching him.

Under the fedora, Harry could see a feminine face that displayed dark eyebrows and amethyst eyes with long eyelashes. Her eyes had an eerily mesmerizing depth that seemed to lure something out of Harry, and scanned Harry from the top to bottom. Then, she made a 'hmm' sound that harbored mild disapproval. Her nose scrunched.

Harry realized how uncouth he looked; his hands were still greasy with cooking oil, his shirts were stained with sauces, and his pants were just barely wearable. They were so worn out that one could say the homeless people had better clothes. He blushed in embarrassment.

But when she scrutinized Harry from bottom to the top, she gasped. She then stared at the boy.

"Oh my," the woman finally spoke in tone that was low for a female, "you must be Mr. Dursley's nephew, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied, subdued.

"Harry Potter, I presume?" The woman asked again.

"Ye, Yes, ma'am," Harry answered, surprised. How did she know her name? Was she his uncle's co-worker?

Harry didn't realize, but the two other strangers' eyes widened in surprise, and walked into the hallway. They knelt to see the child's forehead, and Harry could see that they were both men, one brunette and the other crimson-red haired..

"Son of a bitch," the brunette swore. "Is this, is this really him? How in the seven heavens did he end up like a house-elf?"

House elf?

"Hell if I know," the crimson-red haired man snapped. He turned to the woman and asked, "Sister, what do we do?"

"First order of business," the woman spoke quietly, "we finish what we come for."

"BOY!" Uncle Vernon strode in the hallway, shouting,"what's taking so long? Dudders wants to eat desserts, but you are loitering with these strangers-"

Vernon's eyes laid on the stranger lady, and stopped angry rant. The ugly reddish purple complexion from his face drained, and the paleness took in place.

"Mi-Ms. Anderson," Vernon stuttered in a fashion that Harry never imagined would see, "what brings you here? Eh, I mean, it's not that I mind you coming here, yes."

The loud and obnoxious uncle Vernon that Harry knew so well disappeared as if it had never existed. Instead, there was a frightened human being, acting like a criminal caught red-handed. Sweat rolled down from the fat man's neck and forehead. His eyes kept wandering, barely staying in one spot for more than a second. His hands were trembling, fingers writhing pointlessly. He seemed to forget about dessert entirely, and became essentially mute.

It only confused Harry.

"To collect our debt, of course," the woman whom Vernon address as 'Ms. Anderson' answered. Contrary to Vernon, she was composed and perhaps, even relaxed. "I believe the contract specifically states that the due date was July 30th, 1988, which is today." A thin, condescending smile crept to her lips, like a kindergarten teacher who was dealing with a particularly dim child struggling with simple math.

Vernon's breath hitched. His eyes widened, and fear dominated his entire face. Harry, who was now standing between the 'guests' and Vernon, simply looked back and forth.

"Ye-Yes. Ms. Anderson!" Vernon started to stutter, "I, I was ready to have my secretary write a check and fill in necessary form and all, but today, one of the workers got caught embezzling the company's budget! So I-,"

"Mr. Dursley," Ms. Anderson tutted disapprovingly, "we do not appreciate such lies. By now, you should have learned that we are quite well informed. If anyone is embezzling money from anyone here, that would be you. Here is the question: where is that laundered money?"

"Vernon?" Petunia came out of kitchen, "who are they in the hallway? Is something wrong?"

"Pet, just stay in the kitchen," Vernon hastily gestured his wife to stay away, "nothing's wrong. I am taking care of-"

"You are not," Ms. Anderson cut Mr Dursley, who flinched instantly, "in fact, I would say you are exacerbating the matter by dishonesty and lack of punctuality. Isn't it a common moral code that you should give back what you borrowed to the rightful owner?"

"Borrow?" Petunia asked, confused. "Vernon, did you borrow money from them? Why didn't you tell me? From what bank did they come?"

"They are not from bank," Vernon muttered, shameful. "They are moneylenders."

"MONEYLENDERS?!" Petunia shrieked, "Vernon, are you out of your mind? Of all places, why do you go to loan sharks!"

"Pet, please listen-"Vernon tried to stop his panicking wife, getting more and more pale every second.

"We spent so much money for Dudley's birthday last month!" Petunia ignored her pleading husband, "we also purchased a new car on May that was three thousands pounds more expensive than our last one! We could have used that money to pay the debt-"

"SHUT UP, WOMAN!" Vernon finally roared, cowing Petunia instantly, "I know what I am doing! Do you know how much it takes to keep up our appearances in this neighborhood?! The business is already failing as it is-"

"Failing business?" a still voice cut through Vernon's yelling, effectively quieting him down.

"Signora, what would you like us to do?" The bloody red haired male asked.

"What we usually do to our," Anderson slowly approached to Vernon, who was now wholly trembling, "..worms that fail to meet the ends."

"...What about this kid?"

The purple-eyed lady gazed at frozen Harry. He was just standing there, too frightened to even fidget an eyebrow.

"Oh," she said, a dark smile slipping into her lips, terrifying Harry even more, "he will be our audience today. Alex?"

"Yes, signora?"

"Call the rest of team. And don't forget my favorite toolboxes."


	2. Chap 2: Ultimatum on Dursleys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Major gores.

The air in the living room was tense. 

Dursleys were tied to the living room chairs, and gagged with thick ropes. They were facing the row of people in black suits and dark sunglasses that only instilled more fears of uncertainty into Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley. The parents had earlier kneeled and begged Anderson to allow them extra time to sell their belongings and stocks so that they could secure the fund to pay back the money with interests. However, Anderson and others ignored their pleas, and confined them to the living chairs with their wailing son who did not understand any of this situation. 

Anderson slowly walked in circle, predatorily eyeing Dursleys. About twenty minutes passed since she and her two male companions tied the family down and summoned their equally dangerous looking people, but had not lifted a finger on them. She looked as if she had the most important business decision to make, but never left her gazes from Dursleys during those twenty minutes.

Harry was watching all these events in the kitchen room. Anderson had earlier kindly told him to sit in the kitchen like a good boy, and Harry obeyed her ‘suggestion’ immediately. He was now alternatively looking at the tense living room and the pretty lady with long, wavy brown hair who were vivaciously cooking. She had half of the fridge and all the kitchen utensils out on the counter, and hummed as if completely oblivious to the tense atmosphere in the living room. Harry wondered if she were going to cook for these people as the part of the unpaid debt. 

“Emily,” Anderson called out to the kitchen, “how are the food for Mr. Potter coming? ” 

“It will be done soon,mistress,” the lady named Emily replied poking her head out of the kitchen, “I can make a gourmet meal for five people. Do you want some?”

For Mr. Potter? him?

“No thanks. Alex, did you install the Sound Hologram and Repulsion ward?” 

“Yes, Signora,” the red-haired man answered. 

“Disconnected all the phone connections, Rex?” 

“All done.” The brunette man 

“Excellent. Now, let me finish my work.”

She took out a strange, but modern-looking device from her pocket. The device was grey, hexagonal thing that seemed to be made of steel, but it showed different color whenever it was held in different angles. It was big enough to fit her palm, and had several translucent, crystaline buttons. 

“Commence the visualization,” she said while hovering her hand over the device.

“Command received. Initiating the visualization. The estimated time is twenty seconds,” a cold, female voice responded from the gadget. 

The pale green circles of light emanated from the device and spread through the house, making odd, mechanical noises. The light circle passed through Harry, and he felt a jolt of electricity passing in his spine, and yelped in surprise. Emily giggled, amused at Harry’s flustered expression. 

“It doesnít kill yo', sweet pea!” Emily patted Harry’s head, “it’s just a reaction fum yer magic! 

Magic?

Vernon and Petunia said something in protest, but only made some muffled sounds. They were now madly shaking heads sideways.

“Uncle Vernon told me that Magic is a nonsense,” Harry said, shuddering from the light shock. 

“An' yer uncle also tried t'take lotsa money fum us by bein' dishonest.,” Emily said with sudden strong accent,chopping onions and spinach. She then plopped them in the simmering pot. “Whut in tarnation is yer favo'ite grub-I mean, food, Harry?”

“I….I don’t know,” Harry answered nervously, “but it smells good. I am sure whatever you cook is good. At least better than mine.”

Emily laughed, covering her mouth. “Oh, sech a sweet fella! Let me cook sumpin real nice fo' yah. Once yo' ett mah grub, yo'’ll nevah touch garbages like Fish an' Grits. Really, y'all English folks is terrible in cookin'.”She scoffed, now dicing bacons. 

Harry stared at the back of this pretty lady with crazy accent. Her strangely affectionate warmth contrasted the uneasy ambience of the house, and bewildered Harry even more.

“Is magic real?” Harry asked with timid voice.

“Emily?” Ms. Anderson said, standing by the kitchen entrance, “let me talk to Mr. Potter.” 

“Ok, ma’am. Off yeh go Harry! Doncha worry.” 

Harry left his chair, and entered the living room. Nothing had happened yet except the weird device that radiated odd light circles and shocked him. He nervously approached Anderson, who gazed at the small boy with a look of wonder. She then pressed some buttons on the device. 

Harry shouted in astonishment as a blood red light streamed out of Harry’s chest. The crimson ray of light stemmed from Harry’s chest, and reached Petunia’s. Its scarlet color resembled the blood, but it did not hurt Harry at all. He only felt some tinglings in his heart. 

“Blood ward,” Anderson muttered, “underage spell detection charm, generic protective wards…. The latter two are common, but the former...I wonder who cast it? Huit, give me the taser.”

As Harry retreated to the kitchen with a relief, the man on the leftmost in the row handed her a taser. Anderson cranked up the power to its maximum, and hard-pressed it against Petunia’s neck. The high-voltage electricity made Petunia scream behind her gag, and spasm erratically. Vernon unsuccessfully tried to tell them to stop, and Dudley screamed in fear with tears. Harry was startled by the sound of electricity zapping his aunt.

Anderson soon ungagged Petunia, who sobbed.

“This was just a taste, Mrs. Dursley,” Anderson smiled crookedly, “answer my question properly without leaving out details. Now, who left the child with you?” 

“That old bastard!” Petunia shouted “That, that bastard Dumbledore just dumped him in our doorstep! All he left was a note to take care of him! Like I would ever pay attention that freak boy like you lots-ARHHHH!” 

The taser electrocuted her again, and Petunia screamed even louder. Vernon made more muffled noises, and Dudley to cry like a river. Anderson waved the taser in front of Petunia’s ugly nose.   
“One more impolite word, and you will lose your eyesight. Now, let’s try again.. Did he just leave the boy on the doorstep?”   
“He-he just left him there!” Petunia hiccuped, sobbing. “I sent a letter to say that I don’t want him, but he then replied that I am his family so I should take care of him! Family my arse! I never even went to my crazy sister’s fu-funeral! We never wanted him, but he threatened us to keep him!” 

Vernon nodded frantically next to her. 

“That will do,” Anderson gagged Petunia again, “I knew it was Dumbledore, but I wanted to know the circumstances. Now, let’s talk to Mr. Dursley, shall we? And Mr. Potter, go back to the kitchen. ”

 

Harry silently walked back to the kitchen. It shook him greatly to see that his relatives, who bullied, hated, and rendered his life miserable and reigned over him, were now cowering and snivelling to other people. He had assumed that his life would always revolve around catering to the demands of his despicable relatives, and given up on hopes of having better life. He never imagined that his ever so self-important and grandiose family could be scared of other people. 

But now, he knew it wasn’t impossible. 

“Hurry hun! Sit an' ett befo'e it gits cold!” Emily dragged Harry to the table and broke his contemplation.

Harry’s eyes got as big as saucers as soon as he saw the table.

The table was full of rows of dishes that he had never seen or heard before. They were not common homestyle food, but a full course of gourmet dishes that could only be seen in fine diners. In the front, there was a plate of clams with ground shrimp and melted cheddar, plates of toasted baguette and grilled camembert. On the right, there were a pot of rich beef stew with strong wine scent and butter fried sole with brown sauce, and on the left, there were cheese souffles, a flambeed pear tart, and a small chocolate cake with glossy chocolate sauce. The delicious tantalized Harry’s mouth and nose, and made him water in his mouth. 

“What do I have to clean?” Harry asked, looking around the kitchen. Surprisingly, the sink and the counter were impeccably clean.

“Silly! Yo' donít need t'do anythin'! ah made it wif hearts, skills, an' a bit...fine, actually a lot of magic. ah had t'make it cook much faster wif magic, but th' taste is no diffrunt. So, ah'm tired, an' yo' must ett it t'make me feel less tired. Think of it as yer birthday dinner gala..”

“But, I don’t have money…” Harry muttered.

“Who axs a birthday fella t'pay fo' his own dinner?” Emily laughed loudly.

“So...I really can eat all this without doing chores?”

“Nuh ah! “ Emily shook her head. She then snapped a finger, and a ladle poured the beef stew on Harry’s soup plate. Harry watched the ladle moving on its own, but the growling stomach diverted his attention to the soup.. 

“Wear this earmuffs, hun.” Emily handed the earmuffs to Harry and he wore it. “It will git louder out thar. Now, letís intrydooce etch other, Harry.,” Emily smiled. “I am Emily Wurfelfeind. Yours?” 

“Harry. Harry Potter.” Harry smiled, as he tasted a spoonful of stew. It was the most delicious thing he ever tasted.

Line break. 

Tears and snots covered Dursley’s faces. 

Dudley was injected a drug that made him vomit everything he ate for last week. The disgusting mix of stomach acid and degenerated food hurt and burnt his throat and mouth. They were covered with corrosive chyme, and reeked like weeks worth of food waste trashes that rotted under the sink. Then, he was forced to eat the vomits again, and throw up the goo again, and eat again. Dudley screamed and begged to stop, but no one paid attention to his piggy wails. 

“Jesus,” one of the torturers murmured, “just how much does this fat boy eat? This is more than any one of us eat for two weeks!” He uncaringly watched the vomit fly back into Dudley’s repulsive mouth.

Petunia wasn’t any better. Her feet were tied with two searing hot pans that burned, blistered, and scorched her flesh. Her fingernails were pulled out from both hands, and regenerated like spikes tearing through earth, making her scream and bawl. Her toenails were pulled out too, and every time the nails regenerated, the pain escalated. Petunia kept yelling the word ‘freaks’ over and over behind the gag only to be electrocuted on her neck. Her hair was shaved, and half of it was stuffed in her throat, while the other half was sewn in her arms. Blood dripped from the sewn trail and fell to the carpet.

Vernon was the bloodiest of three Dursleys. His stomach was riddled with laceration scars and dried blood. The torturers impaled rusty daggers to his unbelievably thick fat layer and stabbed through his stabbed intestines. They stabbed in straight, zig-zag, twists, and curves, and the gut blood flooded out of Vernon’s abdomen. It wetted his shirt, pants and carpet below, and smeared through the floor. Then, the deep lacerations on his stomach regenerated flesh and skin, leaving thick scars over, only to be stabbed and bleed again. The yellow, grotesque fat chunks fell to the ground. One of torturer thought it would be even more painful to make the fat boil in his body, literally frying his intestine, liver, bladder, pancreas, and kidney. The burnt human meat gave off its greasy and sickening smell. 

Vernon tried to say something, but he only gurgled blood in his throat. 

“What was that, Mr. Dursley?” Anderson feigned curiosity. “Have you magically figured out the way to pay us back with all the interest? Oh, No? How disappointing.” 

Anderson stuck in a swiss knife in his thigh, and ignored the subsequent scream.   
“Next time, save yourself some breaths unless you can tell us how you will pay the debt in time. Alex? How long have we been doing this?”

“About half an hour, Signora.” 

“Good, fetch me Mr. Potter.” Anderson flicked her finger. The punishment was enough for now.

“Here’s the birthday boy, mistress!” Emily emerged out of kitchen with Harry. He walked out with a satisfied, happy face until his eyes landed on the bloodied living room. The smile was wiped out as he saw his relatives’ miserably disgusting state, and a look of absolute revulsion surfaced.

“I gave him antiemetics. And some relaxants. Don’t worry,” Emily spoke with assurance. Nodding, Anderson gracefully sat on the nicest couch, and gestured Harry to come to her. Harry, however, kept glancing at his quietly sobbing relatives, and failed to move his feet. 

“Look into my eyes, Mr. Potter,” Anderson spoke, “and walk toward me. I am no threat to you.” 

Alex carefully held Harry’s head so that he faced Anderson and her amethyst eyes. Harry once again felt a mesmerizing sensation that slowly lured him to those irises. Trembling, he walked to Anderson. She then lifted Harry and let him sit on her laps, surprising him.

“May I call you Harry?” Anderson combed through Harry’s messy hair with her gloved hands. 

“Yes..madam.” Harry, too confused by all this charitable actions, answered rigidly. 

“What did you think I was going to do when I told you to come?” Anderson asked. 

Harry wasn’t sure how to respond. He really had no idea what she would do to him. Most adults he had met in his life looked at him with scorn and disdain. His relatives who told them that he was a rude, stupid, and a compulsive liar, and alienated him from everyone else. It was no exception in kindergarten. Dudley always bullied other kids to frame Harry whenever something mischievous happened to teachers or other children. He had long given up expecting others to be nice to him. Some adults tried to ‘help’ him, but they soon gave up on the despondent boy.

But today, a stranger lady gave him the best dinner he ever had. She had explained him how she made every single dish, and how she was happy to have a chance to give him a birthday gift. She never asked for chores or money either. She told him that Harry was a good and polite boy for not making fun of her Southern American accent. She was happy to see Harry eat every bite of her dishes. 

And so was Harry, for Emily being the first adult not to see him with scorn. 

 

But now, as he looked in this pale lady, he wondered if he shouldn’t have been so happy. Harry knew there were many other ways to pay for something other than chores and money. She may have wanted something else for the food, but he could not think of anything. Was she going to make Harry vomit like Dudley? Harry looked into her eyes to find any hints of aggression, but couldn’t find any. They seemed to exist not to show her thoughts or emotions, but to pierce into other people. 

“I don’t know, “ Harry answered nervously.

“You think I might ask of you some kind of payment for the dinner Emily just prepared for you,” Anderson answered Harry’s unspoken question, making him flinch. She ignored and continued, “not exactly. I want something else from you, but rest assured. Chores, labors, or those-she pointed at Dursleys-are not what I am really looking for. Tell me Harry. How do Dursleys treat you?” 

Harry hesitated. Although he knew that he wasn’t supposed to be treated like a servant, he wasn’t willing to tell others. It was embarrassing to admit that he was basically a slave like those poor Africans who had been sold to American continents, and no one would believe it anyway. He had told one of his kindergarten teacher once, but it only gave him a detention for making up such a terrible lie about ‘good Dursleys’.

“Nothing much,” Harry replied.

“Nothing much,” Anderson repeated after him. Her emotionally void eyes peered into Harry’s. 

An uncomfortable minute passed.

“Lies cannot be tolerated, Harry,” Anderson spoke gently, “especially to me. I do not like being deceived unless it is about some surprise party. Now let’s try again. What do Dursleys do to you?”

His heart beat madly. Was she going to trust him if he told her? Or was she going to do...that to him for ‘lying’? Or would she get mad at him for not saying anything?

Harry fidgeted in hesitation. 

“Let me answer the question on your behalf, Harry.” Anderson broke the stillness. Her gaze into Harry’s eyes intensified. 

“They lock you in the cupboard because they think you are a freak, and deserves to be in there. They make you cook three meals a day, every day and do the garden work because you should earn your worth. They give you only a piece of butter bread and a cup of milk for breakfast, two pieces of bacon for lunch, and one or two egg fries for dinner because it costs too much money.   
They make you wear the hands-down clothes from that fat, vomiting boy because they are expensive. 

“And You do everything they ask of you,” Anderson continued, “but in return, you get sneers and humiliation. Your aunt and uncle never say you did good jobs. They are always unhappy with you no matter what you do, and call you worthless. They always find faults in every small things you do , and you feel less and less worthy. Every adult you meet already thinks you are a compulsive liar who should be sent to a school for little bad boys. Your teachers don’t believe your words either because your obese cousin bullies other kids to frame you and make you look like a troublemaker.

“And that’s not all. They call you a freak. They tell you that you deserve whatever you get because you are a freak, and you should be grateful for their generosity. They blame you for anything not normal that happens here. They say you are a rude, ungrateful liar of freak, but no. They hate you for you just being you, no matter how much you try to make them happy. In short...they hate you for no reason. Have I exaggerated anything?”

By the end of Anderson’s monologue, tears were flowing from Harry’s bright green eyes. He hiccuped and convulsed with uncontrollable sobs, and bit his lips to not collapse. Anderson pulled tissues from her pocket, and wiped his tears. 

“I am sorry to make you feel bad, Harry.” Her tone was not harsh but not apologetic either. “But this is necessary. Tell me, whose fault is it that people don’t like you?”

Harry stopped crying, and pondered. All the grief and sadness in his heart had leaked through his eyes, and unearthed the resentment and anger toward his aunt and uncle.

The hatred started to simmer under his heart.

“Exactly. Your aunt and uncle,” Anderson nodded, “and if you would count that fat boy, your cousin as well. All your life, you gave and gave to them, and in return, they hate you. And why? Because they think you are freak. But you are not.” 

Anderson took out a newspaper from her pocket. The paper looked quite old, judging by the jaded yellow hue of paper. It was also a black and white newspaper unlike the colored ones that Harry was familiar with. 

And to Harry’s surprise, the picture was moving. The title read:

“ Lily and James Potter murdered by Dark Lord. The Dark Lord defeated by Harry Potter, The Boy-who-lived!”

“...My mom and dad?” Harry whispered in a disbelief. “But...but they died in-”

“Car crash?” Anderson finished for Harry, “child, the last thing wizards and witches will die from is a car crash...well, unless they throw themselves in front of cars. Your parents were murdered by a serial killer named Voldemort, one of the most dangerous wizards in history. No, no.. they did not die in cars.” 

“Wizards?” Harry repeated like a broken toy. 

“Yes. They are real,Harry.” Anderson folded the newspaper and put it back to her pocket, and looked into Harry’s eye’s again. “They have their own societies, rules, and culture. You will see that many of them are similar to how they are described in fairy tales. Wearing pointy hats, swinging silly sticks and saying odd spells. But they are just humans like us.”

“I once turned my teacher’s hair blue because I was angry,” Harry spoke, remembering the times that some crazy had happened, “I also landed on the rooftop while I was running away from Dudley. My hair also grew out almost right after Aunt petunia cut them off.”

“See? You are a wizard,” Anderson reaffirmed. “And guess what? There are people who hate wizards for various reasons. One reason is that they think wizards are freaks who should go to mental hospital,” she gave a steely glance at Petunia, who shrunk in fear. “And that is also a part of why wizards hide from non-magical people. But we will get to that later. We have business to take care of.” 

“So my aunt and uncle hate me because I am a wizard,” Harry hoarsely whispered,” because they think I am a freak.” 

“Yes.”

“But I am not. I am just different. I am not bad either.”

“Mhm.”

 

“And they also lied about my parents because they hated them for being wizards.”

“Yes.” 

“Even though I didn’t choose to be.”

“No one has freedom to choose their parents. But would you hate someone for being a wizard?” 

“...No.”

“See? You are not at fault,” Anderson whispered into Harry’s ears with glinting eyes, “and you have more than every right to be angry at them, and perhaps...want them to be hurt.”

Harry did not say anything. He simply stared at the carpet, still on her lap.

However, his dry, barren heart started to crack and shake, and through the heart’s cracks the hatred started to seep in. It was stronger and richer than he had felt earlier, and was about to break through his barren heart, and explode out of his body. He finally knew why Dursleys hated him, and wanted to make them pay. 

Their bloodied and mangled bodies in front of Harry yanked out the root of fear that was deeply ingrained in his heart for six years, and made him realized that his domineering family was neither invincible nor powerful. They simply abused him because he was weak and alone, but quickly snivelled to these people who had more power than them. 

His eyes now rested on the daggers laying around the floor. 

“You want them to feel what they did to you, don’t you?” Anderson softly spoke, “it’s very understandable. Letting your anger and temper festering inside you is unhealthy, Harry. Sometimes...you have to let them go.”

Harry hopped off Anderson’s lap, silent. He stared at Vernon who couldn’t get paler at this point. 

And he cried. 

Somehow, Harry already had daggers on his hands. He stabbed his uncle’s already scarred, fat belly, and ignored his uncle’s plea to stop. Blood splattered everywhere as Harry kept hurting Vernon’s abdomen indiscriminately, and his uncle’s excruciating screams and pleas only made him pierce faster. He stabbed, slashed, hacked, and twisted with his knife through Vernon’s thick fat layer, not minding the blood and disgusting yellow lipid bits tainting his face. Every blow was delivered with bits of pent-up hatred and fury.

After about five minutes of stabbing, Vernon’s eyes rolled back and fainted. His chair, pants, shoes, and carpet were drenched in blood and nauseating subcutaneous fat. Harry looked at the fat bits. It reminded of worms that he killed earlier in the evening. 

He stomped on some of them.

Alex whispered something in Anderson, but she waved him off. She continued to observe the pent-up ball of berserk hatred that was Harry.

Harry then changed his target. He slowly turned around to see a searing hot pan that was now cooled down. Petunia struggled in her chair, but it was futile. 

She used to hit him with a frying pan, sometimes when it was hot. It gave him blisters. 

The ropes that tied the pan was undone on its own. Harry grabbed the, and slammed on her knee bones. 

Petunia’s chair clattered loudly as her knee bones were shattered. Everyone, except Vernon who passed out, could hear the bones breaking into bits. Harry, however, did not stop to think where the sudden strength came from, and continued to bash the pan against her leg. The legs bone were crushed under his rage, and bruised red and purple. 

He then dropped the pan, and walked to Dudley, who was now wetting his pants. However, Anderson grabbed his shoulder.

“I believe that’s enough for now.” 

“No,” Harry growled. 

“I said, for now.” Anderson repeated, “your cousin will be dealt with later. I’m taking your hair strand.” She yanked Harry’s hair strand, making Harry yelp. She did same with Dudley, Vernon, and Petunia, then handed their hair strands to Alex. 

“Take it to the lab, and don’t call until you are done. Emily?” 

“Why do I have to clean this mess?” Emily whined. 

“Because you are a perfect housewife material and Signora is not. We don’t have forever,” Alex monotonically answered. 

Emily pouted, but drew a small circle with her index without any more complaints. The blood, flesh bits, and other filts that splattered inside the living room vanished without a trace. The furniture was recovered to its impeccable state, and everyone’s clothes were also cleaned without a smudge as if it had been just washed and dried. 

“And now some shots.”

Emily pulled out three syringes from her pocket with thick needles, and stuck them into Dursleys in their arms. They struggled with sharp pain, but soon, their bodies slacked.

“The shots will heal the wounds in five hours, mistress,” Emily dumped the empty syringes in a bin, “they also have Type B-electrophages as you wanted.” 

“Excellent job. Connect to type B.” She pressed her device and said. 

“Type B connected. What are your orders?” A high pitched, disconcerted robotic voice responded from the device. 

“Prevent the hosts from harming the subject by any means.” 

“Name of the subject?”

“Harry Potter.”

The device shot out its blinding beam at Harry. He squinted at the light that suddenly shone on his face. 

“Recognition complete,” the device said, “Harry James Potter. Born July 31st 1980. Wizard. Protect the subject from Vernon Dursley, Petunia Dursley, and Dudley Dursley. Electrocute the hosts if they attempt to harm him by any means. Please confirm by saying ‘authorize the order’.”

“Authorize the order,” Anderson said. 

“Authorization complete. Dormant mode activated.” The device light soon dimmed, and disappeared.

“Emily, stay with Harry. We will come back in two days. Report any anomalies.” Anderson stretched her arms, and gestured the others to come after her. She walked out of the living room and headed to the door with others.

Harry, who was panting from his earlier rampage, finally got a hold of himself, and realized Anderson was leaving. He rushed to her who was almost past the entrance door. 

“Yes?” Anderson turned around to see Harry grabbing her sleeves. His eyes were pleading. 

“Don’t go.” Harry begged. “Please.”

“I said I am coming back in two days, Harry,” Anderson patted his head. “Emily is staying with, She was nice to you during dinner, wasn’t she?”

“But…”

“Dursleys can’t harm you.” 

“Not them,” Harry shook his head, “my mom...and my dad. Do you know anything about them?”

“When I come back after tomorrow,” Anderson lightly pull her arm to free herself from Harry’s hand, “I will tell you everything. Not just about your parents. About magic. About wizards and witches….and who we are. See you soon, Harry.” She fixed her fedora, and left the house. 

Harry saw the cars leaving one by one, and saw Anderson alighting in the last but the biggest one. He stood by the door until her car left the neighborhood. 

“Thank you,” Harry whispered.


End file.
